Fred and George Branch Out
by Caipora
Summary: When children's novelties don't find a market, what are two enterprising boys to do?


"This is the perfect place," said Fred. "Look, we can use the back room for a workshop, so we can make Canary Creams and invent new products while waiting for customers." 

"It's up a staircase," said George, dubiously. "Will customers climb up?" 

"If they want Canary Creams, they'll have to. And it's right on Diagon Alley." 

"Wouldn't a store front be better?" 

"If we rent a storefront, we won't have anything to sell in it. We won't have enough gold left for raw materials. Besides, mostly we'll be selling by owl, and those customers won't care if we've got a big window on the Alley." 

The suite was dark and dingy. Centuries before a despondent wizard had hanged himself in the back room, and his ghost still hung about, dancing at the end of a phantom rope. The previous tenant, an old blind fortune-teller, didn't notice the lack of light and found it easy to ignore the silent ghost, but since she had died a year before the rooms had sat vacant. 

* * *

Business had started well enough. The landlord had given them three month's free rent. All summer long schoolmates had climbed the stairs to buy Canary Creams and other jokes and candies. 

At first younger children, too, had pulled their parents up the stairs, or pleaded for a few Knuts to spend in the joke shop. Those visits tended to be one time only, though. The children were completely satisfied with the jokes. Their parents were less amused. 

The constant laughter had even driven the ghost away. 

At the end of their first summer, the twins' vault at Gringott's had more gold than when they had started. The workshop equipment and the store fixtures, bought on installments, were already half paid off. 

"It's just not working out," said Fred. He turned the ledger and pushed it across the table to George. 

Classes had started two weeks before. School-age wizards no longer climbed the stairs. Adult visitors were rare. It was late afternoon, and the bell on the door had rung but three times all day. They'd had a small banshee as a door chime the first week, until the dwarf who lived across the landing had dropped by with an axe taller than he was, and asked if they'd mind getting something quieter. 

"I wish they'd had a few courses in business at Hogwarts," George said. He got up and went to the small window looking onto Diagon Alley. 

"I know what you mean. Something's wrong, but we don't know just what, or how to fix it. All the old duffers here have the same advice, 'Takes a few decades fer the folk to get to know ye.'" 

"'Rent a shop front. Will take a few years for the business to pay for it, but no doubt your parents can help you out.'" 

"'Build up a stock. People want to know they can buy the same thing their father did.'" 

"Like we'll do well selling old novelties and jokes everyone's already fallen for." 

"Fat lot of good all that does us. So what do we do?" 

The twins did not lack financial acumen. They'd always turned a healthy profit making book at Hogwarts. The bookmaking business was closed to them here. Those who already worked in that line felt that the market was adequately served, and the same employees who collected debts - the dwarf next door was one - would warn off newcomers. Once. 

Despite the gold in Gringott's, things were not looking well. The rent now had to be paid every month. Sales would barely cover it, much less the rest of their costs, and they had to live. 

"We won't last till summer if business doesn't pick up." 

"We need ideas." 

"Muggles." 

Fred looked up sharply. "If we sell magic to Muggles, the Ministry will be on us in a minute. Dad will lose his job for sure." 

"No, not sell to Muggles. Find out how they run shops." 

"That's balmy." 

"Being reasonable isn't doing us any good. The only advice we've gotten from the wizards here is that the first twenty years of business are the hardest." 

"All right, then. Let's dig out some Muggle clothes and take a look at London." 

* * *

London was really a far easier place than a suburb for a wizard to pass unnoticed, especially a young one. There were many young people in black clothes, with hair that made the Wyrd Sisters' look normal, and with bits of steel piercing their clothes - and their skin. 

Compared with that of other teenagers, the twins' dress was not so unusual. In fact, except for the silver buckles on their shoes, they were dressed normally - for golf in Scotland. Still, they were stared at. They were accustomed to that. People always stare at identically dressed red-haired twins, whatever they're wearing. 

They window-shopped all afternoon, gawking at the Muggle products, seeing how small shops displayed their goods, and how stores off the street level attracted customers. 

After several hours they encountered a joke shop. Small and dingy, the window had a faded poster of a magician in top hat, tails and white gloves, a few books of magic, decks of cards and assorted cups, balls and a stuffed pigeon. Plastic vomit and fake dog mess were at the center of the display. 

Fred opened the door and with a slight bow ushered George in. 

The shopkeeper seemed pleased to see customers. As the two perused his displays and peppered him with questions about whether any of the magic was "real", his animation gradually left him. The twins made several purchases - trick chewing gum that blackened the tongue, whoopee cushions, and a cigar guillotine which looked like it cut the cigar but left it whole. 

George picked up a short woven tube of springy rattan. "What's this?" 

"Chinese Handcuffs," the shopkeeper responded, "Here. Each of you put in your index fingers. There." 

After the brothers struggled for a bit, Fred asked, "How does it come off?" 

"It's closing time. If you can't figure it out for yourselves, come back tomorrow and I'll show you. Keep it as a present from me." 

The two found an alley out of sight of the Muggles, and with a quick spell Fred loosened the Chinese Handcuffs. He looked at it and stuffed it into the bag of purchases. "There's got to be a non-magical way to get this off." 

"You can experiment with it by yourself, then. Count me out." 

The twins found a fish-and-chips shop, bought double portions and sat at a sidewalk table, looking at the passing Muggle girls. 

"Well?" 

"I'm discouraged. We walked all afternoon, and saw one joke shop, and it looked like it ought to have closed years ago." 

"Doesn't mean anything to us. Our jokes are really magic." 

"So are our customers. It doesn't impress them." 

They sipped beer and ate fish in silence for a while. George broke the silence. "What's that shop over there? We've been passing those all afternoon." 

"Where?" 

"Over there. The one that's got the window painted over." 

"'Sex Shop'? I wonder what they sell?" 

"Can't be sex, people are coming out with shopping bags. Lots of people going in and out. Whatever it is, it's selling well. " 

"Selling better than jokes, anyway." 

Fred and George looked at each other. They rose, pushed the fish wrappers into a trash bin, and crossed the street. 

* * *

"We're going to need more space." 

"It's a shame to pay rent for a shop on the Alley and paint the window over, but we've got the business for it." 

Fred and George paused in the workroom and listened to the Veelas they had hired as salesgirls explaining goods to customers in the crowded front room. 

"It looks like an ordinary rubber, but there's a spell that makes it work like Chinese Handcuffs. This is the thirty-minute model. Popular among the ladies as a present for a boyfriend. The two-hour model is excellent to give when a friend asks to borrow a rubber because his date has to be home early, and he hasn't time to buy one. 

"Now this is the six-hour model. For the witch or wizard with suspicions about the fidelity of a partner. Easier to catch them in the act, when the act goes on and on." 

Fred smiled. That had been one of his. 

"Perhaps the Tongue Lengthening Gum is what you're after, miss. It looks quite ordinary. You give it to your boyfriend, or girlfriend, and in a few minutes it triples the length of the tongue. The spell is resistant to magical removal, but it wears off if immersed for a time in, shall we say, feminine hormones." 

The gum was George's. 

"Yes, sir, we have quite a line devoted to that specialty. Here's our attire in dragon leather. In restraints, we have a novelty developed by Professor Sprout at Hogwarts. Oh, you studied with him? Brilliant man. Domesticated Devil's Weed. Grips and won't release. But if you speak the "safe word", and it unwinds without leaving a bruise. Good for playing with a friend, or even playing alone. 

"Now this is good for surprising a male friend who's firmly bound. It looks quite frightening - feel how sharp this blade is? Any wizard can sense that there's no spell on it, which adds to the fear that it must be just what it looks like. But it's just a clever little Muggle contraption. Try it with this cigar. Whoops, here, let me show you again. See? It's good to practice first, of course." 

Some ideas had come from friends at Hogwarts. 

"We call it the 'Pocket Veela'. Here, hold it, firmly. Yes, of course it wiggles like it's alive, it is. You have to feed it weekly. Fruits and vegetables only. You don't want it to develop a taste for meat, ha ha. Carrots, bananas, and celery are excellent." 

A hand cream had been suggested by Ron, who was doing very well selling it to first year students. 

"Our own formulation. Used weekly, it inhibits the growth of hair on the palms." 

"Fred, what's our little brother going to do when first year students realize they don't need our hand cream?" 

"Bro, it __is__ magic. Once they've used it for a week, if they stop they will have hair on their palms." 

"George, do you really think we should take the storefront? Wouldn't it be better to open a Hogsmeade branch first, or open a place just for owl orders?" 

"Fred, let's do it all at once." 

They shook on it. 


End file.
